vivication

rambling with eyes wide

cursing oneself again

traveling the tracks of routine &

coming up empty handed

again,

watching the clock tick the way

that frustrates &

feeling the wrinkles come to the

surface of that face that

is becoming closer to the one you

deserve,

than the one that gets worked on,

the one that has a chance &

all along, you be wondering,

just when & where & how it will

all end, yet,

as an artist, you find yourself channeling

every single bit of what comes

into your work, because this is the way

you breathe,

this is the way you live---

doesn’t mean they have to like it

doesn’t mean they have to care

doesn’t mean you have to make them

understand

doesn’t mean you have the time to put a

“reason” to your rhyme---

now is the time to toss out the broken

communications, now is the time to round

up those skills that give you esteem---

yes, you are allowed to do whatever you

want,

yes, you are allowed to be yourself,

yes, you are allowed to

do this for you & you alone,

because hugs are slim & kisses roam free,

they seem to dance around those who

sell out, who give up, who got prestige &

money,

don’t have to be a scientist working on

rockets to come to the conclusion that

romantic love = artistic suicide

&

that is

that.